


Unforgiven

by Reithandina



Category: Harry Potter - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Gen, Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-12
Updated: 2014-03-12
Packaged: 2018-01-15 12:51:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1305502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Reithandina/pseuds/Reithandina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sirius is dead and everything is just too hopeless and filled with despair. He hates the Prophecy, and he hates The Wizards. They gave him nothing, but took everything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unforgiven

**Author's Note:**

> Posted my other work Unforgiven :) I named it after a song actually...

**Unforgiven  
  
                                                                                                  ** _made by Reithandina  
_ **  
 ** **Summary:** _Sirius is dead and everything is just too hopeless and filled with despair. He hates the Prophecy, and he hates The Wizards. They gave him nothing, but took everything.  
  
_ **Warnings:** _Character Death, Dark, Suicide, language.  
  
_ **Characters:** _Harry Potter._ **  
  
[ Unforgiven ]**  
  
He just didn't want this any longer.  
  
 _Life_ , that is _..  
_  
It wasn't the same. Only the endless beginnings and endings of days was the only vision, that which he saw. The Sun rose and he would stare, his eyes and face turning into a mask of despair - though it was not a fake emotion. He would continue to stare at the birth of a new day, the newest beginning, and once again; Yesterday would be the past.  
  
Everything he did yesterday didn't matter. For it was yesterday.  
  
Just like Sirius' death.  
  
It was Yesterday. The Past. No longer now, no longer alive, It didn't even excist anymore.  
  
 **" Sirius...."**  
  
He hurt. 

Oh, it hurt more than anything.  
  
Sirius had been his only hope. His last hope. A hope for a future of happiness, of family, and of a father. His heart had been growing with wishes and desires since third year, and his fantasies had only centered on what they'd do as soon as they become father and son with a house for them only. He would be filled with longing happiness and Hope, and he would not mind continuing on with the harsh day to day that he went through.  
  
With these hopes and dreams in his heart, Harry had not minded that Voldemort was out there, plotting his murder  
  
For Sirius had been alive.  
  
At first, when Sirius had been killed, he had been angry. Filled with rage and a need for Vengance. He hadn't thought for a moment when he had torn himself away from Remus and bolted after the laughing Death Eater - Bellatrix LeStrange. His body and heart had burned with only a need for blood and to extract pain on the woman, who so mockingly tormented him with her beating heart.  
  
The Crucio came from his wand, hurling angrily towards her, but to his horror and grief, it did nothing as it stroke her screaming form. In the end he could not harm her. He did not have the strenght nor the true will to do so and because of this, his rage disappeared and was replaced with emptiness and soul-killing grief. He didn't cry.  
  
He hadn't cried since that night.  
  
He had screamed, he had smashed things and then he'd laid back on his thin bed to stare lifelessly up at the ceiling, his mind's eye repeatedly watching the final moments of Sirius' life. It was a cruel form of torture, but Harry didn't think it suited anyone more perfect. He deserved to be punished.  
  
He had been the reason why Sirius even had to go to the Ministry.  
  
Sirius had come to save him.  
  
Like a day-time Hero from a comic. Yet unlike the comics, or the fairytales, there was no happy ending and in the end, the Hero was killed by the bad guys and the young accursed boy was left alone with the world on his shoulders.  
  
All alone with no hope for a future.  
  
All Alone with a prophecy looming - like an angry storm - over his head.  
  
All alone with no strenght nor heart left to even eat, sleep or fight for his own life.  
  
Everyday was a torment to go through, and yet as the day started and ended, a sort of despair came over his else empty excistence and he would stare at the ending and beginning of the past and future.  
  
 **" But I have no Future.. "**  
  
He would burn and he would be cold, but yet nothing of these pains got even the slightest bit close to his heart. In all respect, Harry was sure it didn't even excist anymore. He was sure that it had been ripped out by his Godfather and gone with him into the World of the Dead. Though there was no marking on his flesh and yet even if the dull beating of the organic heart was still there, it was apparant that Harry Potter no longer felt any emotions.  
  
He was numb.  
  
Cold.  
  
And he didn't care shit about anyone.  
  
Not about himself - he'd rather have been the one to end up in the Veil.  
  
Not about anyone else in this God-forsaken world.  
  
They could all just go fuck themselves for all he cared, and fight their own god-damned war. Why was he supposed to be the one? Why did he have to take a life? And most of all, why should he do all these things?  
  
The world hadn't been kind to him at all to deserve this.  
  
He lost his parents and was taken to the Dursley's, who thought him no better than the next rat in the trash! After which he came to Hogwarts - _a place he thought was his saving grace! A place where he could finally be free, and be Just Harry_ \- this was in the end just a place of heavily Prejudgement, Genocide, Racism and Arrogance.  
  
Wizards and Witches of this world was not the fairytale he had hoped for, but a world filled with too much fear and paranoia; and what he knew best was, that what humans fear, they shun, kill and subdue to their own wills.  
  
They would stand behind a child for protection while they, themselves, would quiver in fear for their own lives, and investments, in the face of danger.  
  
And while Harry would be himself, he would be shunned by these people. Judged and critizied like they even had the right to it. The Dark Side wanted him dead and each year they had tried their best to do so, without knowing who Harry was or what his dreams was. They took away everything Harry loved and turned him to misery.  
  
Only because of something he had no control over.  
  
Because of a Prophecy who had ruined his life before it had even begun.  
  
The Light side depended on him, as a weapon, to Kill The Dark Lord and they didn't care a bit about who Harry was, how he felt, or if he was even alright. They didn't care that he had never had the love of a parent, of a family or friends - _not until he arrived to Hogwarts_ \- and they certainly didn't care how he felt like.  
  
There was no comfort to gain from these _wizards_ as they only cared about themselves and their own beliefs. Though, what about Harry's beliefs? Did anyone ever ask what Harry wanted? No, they didn't. They just assumed that he wanted what the light wanted. They jugded him by his mere name itself and made presumptions.  
  
 **" I am not a weapon.."**  
  
He was a person.  
  
A living, breathing, Feeling, person.  
  
What they did, hurt him. Broke him, just a little more.  
  
Snape with his sneering, his belittleling, his hatred and his prejugdement that Harry was completely like a stranger - a stranger who was sadly his biological father. A man whom he had never known in his life. Harry was not James Potter and this, Snape failed to see only because he jugded him on what he looked like.  
  
Harry looked a lot like James Potter and he _hated_ it.  
  
He didn't look like his own person.  
  
He _wasn't_ his own person anymore and now that all hope was over, there wasn't really any reason to be anyone. He didn't want to be Harry Potter; The Chosen One. He didn't want to be James Potter's Son. Nor the Golden boy of Gryffindor.  
  
He didn't want to be.  
  
Instead, he would have his revenge.  
  
On them all.  
  
One final Fuck-you.  
  
This would be to the Light, the Dark and then everyone else. They were ignorant and foolish, like sheep and lions. No one wanted to actually stand up for themselves, or admit defeat or wrong. No one wanted to accept what was staring them right in the face, specially if it was something they feared, or something that could be good for their future - like revolution, even if it looked scary.  
  
Change is Scary... But.  
 **  
 _" There is no Good or Evil, only power and those too weak to seek it. "_**  
  
While it is true, it could also instead be said, that there is no Light or Dark, but only intentions and choices and that is what defines a one person. A choice can only be good or evil in the views of others, but where does one draw the line?  
  
Arrogance?  
  
Greed?  
  
Prejudice?  
  
Pride?  
  
Or the Death of innocents?  
  
Why was the Wizards so proud and adament on having _Pure_ blood, when in Harry's eyes Wizards weren't really the purest race there was? They were still _human_ after all and how could being a human, even get close as to being pure? 

**" Blood doesn't matter... Magic is everything... "  
  
** They would never understand this.  
  
Because Wizards, _humans_ , weren't meant to rule over a World of Magick. It didn't belong to humans - _the halfbreeds_ \- but the true purebloods. Now, where are these beings? Trapped, enslaved and driven to colonies like reservations for particular rare animal breeds.  
  
It surprised Harry that there wasn't a sign at each enclosurement, that read;  
  
 _" No hunting, No feeding, Reservation for Rare Magical Creatures; Beware, they bite. . "_  
  
.... but it nothing matters anymore.  
  
Nothing matters now. 

Sirius is gone.  
  
And so is he....  
  
Harry didn't excist anymore. It was only his human shell and what was left of his damaged soul, trapped alone in his room in Privet Drive nr 4. Voldemort was back and to the Wizards, the world was darker than before, but to Harry the world was only in shades of Grey.  
  
He wasn't afraid.  
  
Only resigned.  
  
Though, today is special. An Occasion for a smile - though it was dreadfully empty and stiff. He knew it was selflish, but there was nothing he could do about it. It was how he felt and he couldn't fight anymore. It was impossible. Not like this. No, things were going to change and the Wizarding World was going to tremble in fear and then perhaps they'd chance?  
  
No, he doubted that very much, even as he held the cool shining tool in his hand, ready for the time to use it.  
  
It was heavy, but felt strangely perfect in his hand, like he had been born to hold it.  
  
Yet, the relevation came too late. In any moment the Order of the Phoenix would come and pick him up, so he would have to be quick. He had to do this, or he'd never be able to do anything.  
  
He knew that the Light would lose hope after this and they would be resigned to their fate against the Dark, with them every other sheep would fall to despair. Voldemort was too powerful for them all to handle - the weaklings! - but perhaps this was indeed what would change them.  
  
If they wanted help to defeat the Dark Lord, then why sit in their houses, all warm and content? Why not seek the help themselves? Or stand up for their lives and continuing excistense? They had a wand, they had gone to school, they knew the god-damned spells!  
  
All it took was point, curse, move, point, curse, move, and ect.  
  
Yet, Wizards were so lazy.  
  
A killing Cursing coming their way and they'll just stand there, gaping at it like morons. Did they really want to die that bad? The Killing Curse might be unblockable, but any idiot can move, right? It's not that hard, every living creature learns this when they're in the womb of their mother!  
  
 **" Pathedic..."  
  
** He knew there would be pain.  
  
Yet, it was only physical pain and he would accept that with pleasure. It was after all how all things began and ended and he desurved nothing more than to end in pain. Even if it would be slight.  
  
His heart woke for the first time in weeks.  
  
He'd get to see Sirius again.  
  
Then he'd finally see his parents. He wondered if they'd be disappointed about his choice, but decided he didn't really care as long as Sirius was there.  
  
He turned towards the door, when in the dark hours of the night he heard the front-door open downstairs and soft footsteps on his aunts floor coming up the stairs. His green eyes stared at the wooden surface that blocked his view, he felt cold and cared less about them now, but a slight smile crept to his lips.  
  
He waited...  
  
The footsteps came closer, the hushed whispers grew louder.  
  
He regonized these voices.  
  
The Order, of course.  
  
The Door nob turned and the wood was pushed lighted and slowly inward.  
  
Everything seemed to go in slow motion and Harry's heart was the one that was the loudest and fastest.  
  
 **" Almost There..."**  
  
He moved his hand up, the shining silver tool gleamed from the pale moonlight that came through his window and pointed the hollow tip to his temple. The cool steel send goosebumbs down his body, but he ignored it as a wand - lit with Lumos - pointed into the room and the door opened all the way.  
  
Right infront of him the Order stood, the light of the wand was their only means to see clearly. Their expressions was turned into frowns of confusion and trepidition. Harry gave a shrill laugh from his throat at their ignorance. They didn't even know what a Fucking **GUN** was!  
  
Then he press his finger on the trigger and the gun went off with a vicious and loud bang that resonated in the room - which made the Order jump in shock and horror as his brain was splattered on the wall.  
  
Harry Potter - Boy-Who-Lived, Chosen One - fell to the floor his brain blown out of his head and lifeless green eyes starring into nothing. A smile of insanity on his lips. A wail broke out from the only werewolf in the room as he lost the last link of his friends, for sadly, the world wasn't kind to this creature either.  
  
 **[ Unforgiven ]**  
  
 _" Dear Remus,  
  
You are Sirius' friend and the last of the Marauders - let's ignore Wormtail and curse his life and death. But because of this, you are the one I wanted to express my words to the most, though I have no doubt that you will be sharing this with everyone in the Order.  
And that is fine too.  
You wonder why I pointed the Gun at my head and shot myself, I know it, and I know I suceeded. And the answer is simple. I lost hope for my future when Sirius died. I lost my will to continue fighting for a People that not only didn't care for me, but had never asked me what I wanted, or given me anything.  
They had always taken and taken and taken and taken. Never satisfied, and when they needed a scapegoat, I was the perfect one so they pushes their hate and fears upon me. I did not want this kind of burden nor hurt, and it only added more fuel to the flame I already had.  
Contrary to popular belief, I did not grow up with relatives that actually loved me, infact The Dursleys - Petunia and Vernon Dursley - was the excact opposite.  
They were simply put; Magic Haters.  
And I was constantly belittled, beaten and treated worse than the next rat in the dumbster. I was never shown any signs of love from this family, and the only touch I resived all these years in their household, was through violence.  
Imagine my surprise, when I found out that it was a wizard who had put me there. In my own personal hell. I wish I'd been with you, I knew at least you would never hurt me, even as a werewolf. But it's the past, right? It's of Yesterday.  
I thought, when I found out I was a wizard at age 11, that this was my chance to start over. That I could finally be Just Harry, and be around people that was just like me. Finally be accepted as a person and grow myself a life in this new exciting world.  
But I was greatly disappointed.  
The world of Magic knew me already. And from my name and the deeds my mother's protection had given me as Voldemort killed her, had given these wizards the right to fantazies a story about me, that was no near the truth. They did not treat me as a child, Remus.  
I was The-Boy-Who-Lived to them, not a child who had come from an Unloved family, who knew nothing about Magic, except that it didn't excist. For that had been beaten into me, by my uncle. Magic was freakish and didn't excist.  
But I love magic. Very much so.  
Sirius was my hope for a future, and with that hope I continued letting Wizards and Witches walk right over me as they pleased. I fought to stay alive and fight Voldemort and his deatheaters, because I had the will to save my future with Sirius. He was my Godfather and the only fantasy of a Home and family.  
I never had that with you, even if I understand that someway you could have taken me away. Kidnapped me from my abusers, yet you did nothing. I don't know if I should blame you or not. I am undecided about this.  
But the wizarding World is Unforgiven. Voldemort can smash their homes, kill their men, rape their women, and raise their children in the next generation of Dark Magic, and I will not care Shit.  
Because I owe them nothing. They owe ME! They took everything from me.  
My family. My Life. My hope, and my free will. They crushed me, broke me and they didn't care one bit. So I do not care about them. In the end, I hope that in the ashes of my death, something good shall rise.  
  
But mark my words, Remus.  
  
 **I'll be back.  
**  
With Love  
  
Harry James Potter. "  
  
_ **[ Unforgiven ]  
  
** In a place of silence, of grief and death and darkness, a lone tombstone stood, looming over the flower covered grave. The grass around it was filled with all kinds of flowers, from all kinds of people. Hogwarts students, light people, dark people who had come for show when the burial had happend.  
  
It was even rumored that the Dark Lord had come.  
  
The flowers were still fresh, but there were clear signs that it was a year old Grave. The tombstone was a strange one indeed, one that did not truely do justice to the young man, though the irony would not escape him. It was a weeping angel, crying to the sky. It had a lightning bolt scar on it's forehead and was to represent the boy who killed himself on his 16th birthday.  
  
On the tomb stone the clear letters stated the identity;  
  
 _Harry James Potter,  
Chosen One,  
Driven to Suicide by Destiny and the Magical People of Britain.  
_  
Around the final resting place of Harry Potter, the air was still and tense, as if waiting. Nature was silent and not a bird could be spotted for miles. There was no insects singing and there was no wind. It was the perfect spot for a haunting ground and future myths.  
  
A pale hand, suddenly, shot out from between the flowers, covered in dirt. It desperately clung at the ground, clawing and digging and pulling itself up. On the back of the hand, clear words stood out between the smudges;  
  
 _" I must not tell lies "  
  
_ And out of the earth, from the flowers, rose Harry Potter from the dead, a grin on his blue lips and a mad murderous gleam in his demonic Avada Kedavra green eyes. They slittet in pleasure and a tongue darted out and licked his filthy lips, flitting over a viciously sharp fang.  
  
 **" Revenge... Has Come.. At last.."**  
  
 **[ Unforgiven ]  
   
**

**Author's Note:**

> What you think? Was it okay? Dreadful? Interesting? Review please, and don't be too harsh or I'll throw some Snape or Lucius as you! - wink -


End file.
